"But it is fine! And the successful people are the interesting people."
"That has nothing to do with the matter," he returned dogmatically.
"Don't you think so?" she replied distantly, with a note of reproof in her voice. He was too young, too unimportant to cast such aspersion upon this comfortable, good-natured world where there was so much fun to be had. She could not see the possessing image in his mind, the picture of the afternoon—the unsuccessful woman.
"There is nothing honorable in wealth," he added, as she turned to examine a delicate landscape. Her eyes flashed defiantly.
"It means—"
"All this," he moved his hand contemptuously. "Ah, yes, and a lot more," he added, as her lip trembled. "It shows power and ability and thrift and purpose and provides means for generosity and philanthropy. But it rots."
"What do you mean?"
"Because it turns the people who have it into a class that come to feel themselves divinely appointed. Whereas it is all a gamble, a lucky gamble!"
"Not all wealth is a lucky gamble!" she retorted hotly.
Sommers paused, discomfited at the personal turn to the thought.